Nomadic Nurse Diaries

Dear “Should I Buy a Farm or Keep Running Away From My Issues?”

So here I am, absolutely falling in love with this area of Washington. The scenery, the slower pace, the sense of endless possibility—it’s all tugging at my heartstrings in ways I didn’t expect. Honestly, I could see myself living here. And not just in a passing-through-for-a-contract kind of way. I mean really living here.

I’ve been daydreaming about buying a boat and living at a marina or, better yet, buying land and building my own little homestead. And guess what? It’s not just a daydream anymore. I’m actually working with a realtor right now! I found this piece of land super close to the prison I’m working at, and the second I drove onto the property, I was in love.

It’s literally my dream spot—a log cabin, plenty of land for a woodshop, a few chickens, maybe even some goats if I’m feeling bold. I can already picture it: cozy nights by the fire, waking up to the sounds of nature, building things with my own hands. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

Here’s the thing that’s been nagging at me, though: I love this area, but work? Work is a whole other beast. I’ve never felt so out of place in a work environment. And it’s not because the people are bad—we’re just… different. I’ve noticed myself slipping back into the toxic headspace I used to have while in the army. You know, where you feel like you have to keep your guard up, smile through gritted teeth, and remind yourself that these aren’t your people.

I don’t feel like myself at work. There’s this constant uneasiness, like I’m forcing a version of myself that doesn’t quite fit. Which is strange, considering I actually like about 90% of the staff. Nearly every nurse I’ve met here is solid. I get along with management, too. But somehow, I still feel disconnected.

But here’s something positive: my mom came to visit, and it was the perfect break from all of this headspace clutter. We stayed on a lake for a few days, and it was amazing to have her here. There’s something about seeing someone who knows you inside and out that brings you back to reality. It was like the mental reset I didn’t know I needed, reminding me that my life isn’t just about work drama and awkward social situations.

Those few days on the lake were exactly what I needed to step back and realize—my struggles at work? They don’t define me, and they don’t have to be permanent.

So, that’s where I’m at—caught between loving the place and feeling totally off at work. The land, the cabin, the vision of this peaceful life—it all feels so right. But every time I walk into the prison, that sinking feeling creeps back in. It’s like my heart is all-in on staying here, but my brain is telling me to be careful. Maybe I’m letting these awkward interactions cloud my judgment. Maybe I just need more time to find my place. Or maybe—just maybe—this is my gut telling me something’s off, and I should listen to it.

The bigger question is: Do I give up my dream of travel nursing after only two months? Am I throwing in the towel too soon? I’ve barely scratched the surface of this lifestyle. It’s not convenient, sure. But honestly, when has the good stuff in life ever been convenient?

And there’s the kicker—if I took the staff position, bought the farm (literally, not figuratively), would I still have room in my life for those bigger dreams? Like working internationally? I’m not sure I would. It’s a big decision, and I feel like I’m on the edge of something huge. Maybe I just need to keep trusting myself and not rush it.

Advice, anyone? Should I stay or go? (Cue The Clash in the background.)

Until next time,
Your Torn-but-Still-Dreaming Nomadic Nurse